


Refuge

by Bagheeraa



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheeraa/pseuds/Bagheeraa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes's apartment was mere degrees above freezing, but he made up for it by being a pretty good big spoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refuge

Michaela’s toes were cold.

With a sleepy frown she moved her feet, searching for her blanket with no luck. The next natural step would be to reach for it, but something had her arms trapped and her frown became something more akin to a pout. Obviously she was going to have to _look_ to solve this problem. Joy unbounded.

She reluctantly opened her eyes and waited for her vision to adjust to the dark room. At first glance Michaela diagnosed part of the problem. She wasn’t lying in her temperature-controlled room, nor was this her supremely comfortable bed, where she’d usually be curled beneath at least one of her three blankets. No, this sparse, chilly wasteland was Wes’s apartment without question, and Michaela had known from the minute she’d relented to it that she was going to regret agreeing to have this little study/pity party at Wes’s place. But even though their building had the worst heat, Rebecca always had the best booze and everyone had been firm in the opinion that she was out there somewhere just waiting to ruin their lives, so they were entitled to drown their sorrows in her stash.

From where she was Michaela could see Connor sprawled in Wes’s desk chair, sleeping the sleep of the well and truly drunk. Putting in some effort, she found she could move enough to spot Laurel curled up at the end of the bed with her back to Michaela. The weight of her returned engagement ring made itself known then, and Michaela swallowed. She’d wanted in equal measure to throttle and hug Laurel when she’d slid the ring across the bar to her, and when she’d said as much, Laurel had merely shrugged. Her reasoning had been sound, if wildly manipulative, and she obviously felt little remorse over it. Michaela wasn’t sure how she felt about that yet—part of her admired it, truth be told—but she still treated Laurel to a classic Pratt verbal evisceration. It’d made her feel much better.

So with Connor and Laurel within her line of sight and Rebecca god-knew-where (and unlikely to wrap herself around Michaela koala-style even if she wasn’t), it was obviously Wes’s grip that Michaela was tangled in.

It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, she noted. In fact, in terms of comfort, all Michaela really had to compare it to was Aiden’s spooning style, and the differences made it difficult to determine a winner. Aiden’s arms were slightly thicker than Wes’s feel, but they weren’t nearly as long which, on one hand, was nice because she could already tell that getting up to pee was going to be about as easy as releasing oneself from a straitjacket, and Michaela had no desire to dislocate her shoulder tonight. On the other hand, this was the most secure Michaela had felt in a _long_ time—since before she’d become part of the Keating Five and before she’d thought she was finally getting the life she’d been busting her ass for on track, at least. The last time she’d felt so—she didn’t even know. Cared for? Protected?—safe, she guessed, in Aiden’s arms was the day she’d told him she’d gotten into law school and they’d both been excited and optimistic for the future. It seemed like centuries ago.

Michaela missed those days. But, she decided, Wes’s encompassing grip wasn’t bad. Sure, it’d be a bitch in the morning (as would the hangover she was sure to have) but right now with the sun down and no one awake but her, it was nice and grounding. She hadn’t been held in ages and if half-asleep and more-than-half drunk wasn’t the perfect time to enjoy this, then when was? Not to mention the fact that Wes was pretty adept at keeping out the cold. He’d dropped the ball on her toes, obviously, but in the icebox he called an apartment, Michaela reminded herself that it could have been much worse.

Behind her, Wes finally responded to her movements with a sleepy protest, grumbling softly in her ear as his arm twitched around her. She obligingly fell still and let out a happy sigh when Wes tangled his legs with hers, trapping her cold toes between his calves. With her biggest problem solved, Michaela snuggled in unabashedly and let her eyes drift closed again.

Just before she was well and truly out, Wes mumbled behind her. “Your toes are cold.”

“Get over it.” 

Wes’s quiet laugh vibrated through her, and Michaela relaxed into his embrace and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the gifset of Alfie Enoch wrapped around Aja Naomi King and by there really not being enough Wes/Michaela interactions for my taste.


End file.
